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Unit 9: The Shroud by Munshi Premchand

At this moment, too, they were roasting potatoes, which they had dug up from someone else’s Notes
field, in the embers. Ghisu’s wife had died many years ago. Madhav had married only the
previous year. After the woman had come, she had laid the foundations for some kind of
discipline in the household and managed to fill those shameless stomachs. And since she’d
arrived, the two had become even more inclined to relax and had even started acting pricey.
If someone called them in to work, they’d ask for double wages without batting an eyelid.
Today, that woman was dying in childbirth and it was quite likely the pair were waiting for
her to die so that they could get a good night’s sleep.
Ghisu pulled out a potato and, peeling it, he said, “Go and see what’s happening to her.
There’ll be the business of a witch, you can bet on it.”

Madhav was afraid that, if he went into the hut, Ghisu would grab a larger share of the
potatoes. He said, “I’m scared to go in there.”
“What’s there to be scared of? I’m right here.”

“So why don’t you go and see, then?”
“When my wife was dying, I didn’t move from her side for three days. This one, she’ll be
embarrassed in front of me, won’t she? I’ve never even seen her face. Now to look at her
uncovered body! She’ll be uncomfortable. If she sees me, she won’t be able to throw her arms
and legs around so freely.”

“I’m wondering what will happen if there’s a child—ginger, jaggery, oil—there’s nothing in
the house.”
“Everything will come, when God is good and ready. This lot, who aren’t giving us any
money now, these same people will call us tomorrow and give us cash. I’ve had nine sons,
there was never anything in the house, but God got us through the mess somehow.”
In a society where people who toil day and night are not much better off than these two, and
instead of farmers it’s those who exploit them that grow rich, it’s no surprise that attitudes like
this develop. Let’s say that Ghisu was cleverer than the farmers, that instead of joining those
simple-minded peasants, he’d joined the company of conmen. Of course, he did not have the
capacity to follow that company’s rules and regulations, which was why others of his ilk had
become chiefs and headmen in the village while he remained the one at whom fingers were
pointed. Still, he had the consolation that, however badly off he was, he didn’t have to work
as achingly hard as the others and that people could not take undue advantage of his simplicity
and helplessness.
The two of them pulled out the potatoes and devoured them, hot as they were. They had eaten
nothing since the previous day. They didn’t even have the patience to let them cool so, every
now and then, they scalded their tongues. When it was peeled, the outer part of the potato did
not seem that hot but, as soon as it was bitten, the inner part burned the tongue, the throat
and the palate. Instead of holding that burning coal in one’s mouth, it seemed wiser to send
it down as soon as possible to where there was more to cool it. That’s why they were swallowing
so quickly, although the effort made their eyes water.
Ghisu thought back to a landlord’s wedding feast that he had been to twenty years ago. The
contentment he had felt at that feast was worth remembering for a lifetime and, even today,
the memory was fresh. He said, “I’ll never forget that meal. I’ve never eaten that kind of
food—or that much of it – ever again. The girl’s family fed everyone as many puris as they
could eat. Everyone. The rich, the poor – everyone ate those puris. And they were made with
pure ghee, mind you. Chutney, raita, three kinds of greens, one curried vegetable, curds – I
can’t tell you how delicious that food was. There was no holding back. Ask for whatever your
heart desired, eat as much as you want. People ate and ate, so much that they couldn’t even

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